Chapter 98

The biggest problem with waitressing is that Becki really freaking hates it, okay?

It's miserable. People are so rude to you, all the time, and your arms ache after each shift from carrying around everybody's hot plates and their stupid trays of cocktails and wine and soda and god knows what else.

And nobody is ever happy, either. They ordered a Cabernet Sauvignon, but all your restaurant sells is Merlot. Well. You'd think the entire sky was falling down, the way some people carry on about it. Imagine being that obsessed with Cabernet Sauvignon, for Christ's sake.

Becki very deliberately does not think about all the times that she yelled at a server because they were out of the wine she wanted, or about that time when she asked for no walnuts and threw the salad on the floor because the waiter forgot.

Or about that time that she asked for a manager to insist that creepy busboy be fired, because she knew he was checking her out while he cleared tables. That had really been blown out of proportion, for one thing. That lady did not have to start recording, and Becki is not a racist, thank you very much.

The thing is, when Becki was the customer, she was always right. That's the saying, isn't it? The customer is always right? Becki had good reasons when she did those things.

But her customers are something else. They're idiots, all of them. I mean, that old dude last night had to have been at least 60. What business did his wife have accusing her of flirting with the old dinosaur? Get real.

The worst part is, she isn't even supposed to be here. Waitressing, that is. She might have successfully skipped out on that credit card debt - thank god all her cards were actually in someone else's name - but it's not like she has anything else to live on.

She was supposed to become an actress. That was the whole point. She knew that New York was just holding her back. The whole scene is corrupt. Hollywood is where it's at. That's where talented young women like Becki go to be discovered.

It's not her fault that audition after audition - which take all day, by the way - result in literally zero callbacks. Not even one. It's not her talent, she refuses to believe that. No, this place is probably just as corrupt as New York.

"Becki!" her manager shouts, banging on the bathroom door. "Quit dicking around in there and get your ass out here. We're down a server and I need you on table six. Get your ass in gear or you can look for another job."

Becki sighs. Seriously. What has her life become?

If Darlene had to use one word to describe the entirely absurd direction her life had turned, it would be "audacity" - as in, the sheer audacity of everyone who has put her into this position.

Bill, for one thing. Bill is the biggest problem, in Darlene's view. Bill Robinson ruined her life without a backward glance, and, frankly, Darlene is flat-out pissed off about it. Excuse her French.

Everything had been going so well. Perfectly, in fact. Charis unexpectedly dying threw a bit of a spanner in the works, no matter what Darlene had told Bill at the funeral, because she hadn't planned on leaving Paul so soon.

But she could've worked with it. Paul hadn't been doing so great by that time, anyway. He was getting moodier and moodier, mooning about Nicole's death, getting sentimental. Ridiculous.

Nicole's death had been a wonderful stroke of luck for all of them, but for some idiotic reason, Darlene's stupid husband couldn't see that.

And now she's alive? The little brat was alive the entire time, right under their noses. Living in the Alpha's mansion and ruining all of their plans. Darlene should've killed the little snot herself when she had the chance.

If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself, after all.

Still, Darlene could've worked even with that. She could've left Paul and convinced Bill to get remarried. Bill still had plenty of money in his own right; things would've worked out all right for Darlene.

Now, she has no idea what she's going to do. Becki is off trying to be an actress in California - good luck with that; the child doesn't have a talented bone in her body, unless it's a talent for spending other people's money - and Brodie won't even answer her phone calls anymore.

The sensible thing to do, of course, is to find another wealthy moron to hitch her wagon to. Darlene has very little money of her own, and she hasn't worked since her days as a perfume girl on Fifth Avenue. She's not about to start now.

She's thinking all of this as she sourly surveys the room of the party she's in, a gathering for upper-class singles hosted by her friend Dana.

Dana's husband left her last year - funny enough, for a perfume girl from Fifth Avenue - and has made it her life's mission to get back at him by marrying someone much richer than he ever was. She hosts these parties to widen her fishing pool.

This is Darlene's second time attending one of these things, and it hasn't been going well. She's struck out twice tonight alone - Nicole's reappearance in society and her wretched engagement to the Alpha's son has dragged all their family business back into the limelight, and nobody wants to touch Darlene with a ten-foot pole.

She sighs, guzzles her drunk, beadily eyes everyone in the room. There's Mr. Chester over there; the man has to be at least 75 and is in a wheelchair, but he's richer than Midas, so she might as well try.

Darlene straightens her back, pastes on her best smile, and strides forth to try again.

Paul slumps behind his desk, the half-empty bottle of bourbon glimmering pathetically in the light of the single lamp he has lit. The room is mainly awash in darkness, one that reflects the perpetual twilight that's settled on his soul since he discovered Nicole was alive.

She won't talk to him. He knows that. The cold tone in her voice when she answered his call the other night said it all. He won't give up, but he can only push so far. The Alpha family is insanely powerful - if Nicole complains about him to them, his career is toast.

He screwed up. He knows that. He can't change it now, but he'd like to.

What would Mabel say? She'd loved Nicole so much, so much, in the brief time they had together. When Mabel died, Paul had promised her that he'd love and take care of Nicole with enough dedication for two parents.

Then he met Darlene, and somehow…somehow everything went terribly wrong.

What has he done?

"Hey man, your phone's ringing," Brodie's friend, Alex, points out. Brodie turns from where he's flirting with Saska, who is new to the program and was just invited out for the first time this week.

Brodie picks up his phone, which is charing at the corner of the bar, and sees that it's his mother calling. Again.

He turns off his ringer. He has enough money to get him through this year, at least, and he'll figure out what to do from there. He's adaptable. He'll land on his feet.

Brodie wants absolutely nothing to do with the shit storm currently raining down on his family at home. Thank god he was smart enough to get away before the clouds broke, because you couldn't pay him to trade places with any of them.

Brodie takes a swig of his beer and turns back to Saska.